


Dean Lies

by trueunbeliever



Series: Liar [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective John Winchester, Wee!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trueunbeliever/pseuds/trueunbeliever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam comes home after school with tears in his eyes. "Dean lies," he tells his dad in explanation. John's confused until he asks more about the mysterious Dean his son met at school that week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... I'm sorry for this, Fearless Readers. It was a much better idea in my head than it was when I reread what I'd written. It's inspired by "Alyssa Lies" by Jason Michael Carroll (link below). This'll make much more sense if you watch that first before you read. My brother made me watch, and then I had the sudden urge to write this. Watch and read and let me know what you think :)

[Link to "Alyssa Lies"](http://youtu.be/nLh5vbBLpxI)

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Sammy,” John called from the kitchen when he heard the front door close. “How was school?”

Tiny footsteps called him from the dishes in the sink, and he turned around to face his son. Sam’s eyes were puffy and red. He sniffed a tiny snuffle and John knew he’d been crying.

He kneeled down, beckoning Sam to him until the six year old was wrapped tight in his arms. Hot teardrops soaked through his plaid shirt, but John barely noticed them, concerned as he was. “You okay?” he asked, rubbing circles into his back.

Sam shrugged in his hold, not answering the question.

“What happened?”

“Daddy,” Sam whispered into his shoulder. “Dean lies.”

“Who’s Dean?”

Sam sniffled again and John was sure that there was mucus mixed in with the tears on his shirt. “He’s a fifth grader. He’s new, and –and he’s a liar,” Sam said forcefully.

John didn’t realize the tension in his shoulders until it was released. Fifth graders were known to tease the littler kids in school, so John brushed it off, chalking it up to a small case of bullying that he’d talk to the school about. Sam sobbing into his shoulder made much more sense, but he could deal with this. “What did he say?”

Sam shook his head and burrowed deeper into John’s hold.

“You can tell me,” John said soothingly.

“Dean lies to the whole class, everyday at school,” Sam whispered, so low that John had to strain to hear it through his sobbing. “And Dean lies to his teacher when he tries to cover the bruise.”

A small pit developed in John’s stomach at that. “Sammy,” John coaxed, “What bruise?”

Sam shook his head, refusing to speak, and John couldn’t get another word out of him all through dinner.

John’s bad feeling increased at the state of his son, sitting quietly through his meal and bustling off to his room as soon as the table was cleared. He wasn’t the smiling bundle of energy that he was used to. But no matter how he came at him, John couldn’t get Sam to open up any more than he already had.

“Bedtime, Sammy,” John called through the door, knocking twice before he opened it.

Sam was sitting on the floor, looking through the small photo album he’d found hidden in John’s room the year before. It was filled with smiling photos of Mary and John, both before and after Sam was born. It was hard, losing Mary, but Sam didn’t even have memories of her to soothe him. He was only an infant when she’d died. Still, there was something about the photo album that made him feel better when he was upset.

“C’mon, bud,” John said. “Into bed.”

Sam closed the album and slipped it under his pillow before he climbed under the covers.

John kissed him on the forehead and turned out the lamp on his bedside table. “Night, Sammy.”

“Love you, Dad”

John’s smile was small. “Love you, too.”

The door was still a hair open when he heard a rustling from inside the room. A small thud of feet sounded, and John rightly assumed that Sam was no longer in bed.

He waited a moment, trying to see what Sam was doing before he came in and put him back in bed.

 _“God,”_ he heard Sammy say through the door. _“I know you look after Momma up in Heaven, and me and Dad.”_

John had never been a very religious person, but Mary had, and he knew that he’d told Sam more than once that his mother was an angel up in Heaven. Even so, he didn’t think he’d ever heard his son pray before.

 _“But can you bless my friend, Dean, too?”_ he heard. _“I know he needs you real bad.”_

 _Because Dean lies_ , John remembered.

He trudged off to his own room after that, trying to convince himself it was because he didn’t want to impede on his son’s privacy that he left when he did. But, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the real reason.

It was the worst night of sleep John had had in years. He tossed and turned, his nerves on end. More than once, he looked at the telephone, wondering whether he should call someone. This wasn’t something he should ignore, he knew. Whoever this Dean was something had to be wrong with him if it had Sammy acting like this.

At the same time, John convinced himself that it couldn’t be as bad as his imagination was making it seem. Sam was only six. There was still a lot that got him worked up, things that weren’t important to anyone but him. It was just as likely that it was something like that, that John would just be making a big deal about something small.

Even with that argument at the forefront of his mind, John was restless. When he did nod off, it was to a fitful sleep that had him startling awake just as dawn cracked over the horizon.

John rose from his bed, showered, dressed, and ate in a stupor.

Sam came into the kitchen fully dressed but yawning tiredly and rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was a regular morning in every way but one, with both of them silent and contemplative instead of chatteringly happy over twin bowls of cereal.

“I’m driving you to school today, Sammy,” John told him.

Sam was surprised, but not inquisitive enough to ask why. He merely accepted the announcement and shuffled off to grab his backpack before John loaded him into the car. The drive to school was much like their morning, and it wasn’t long until Sam was walking toward the playground, looking for someone along the way.

John left him and went straight to the office.

“Ms. Carson,” he caught the principal on his way in.

“Oh, hello, Mister…?” 

“Winchester.”

“Sam’s father,” she said, smiling. It was obvious she was tired, but the smile was genuine. If the slight red-rimmed eyes were any indication, she’d been crying as well. “What can I do for you?”

John rubbed his neck, suddenly nervous. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he hedged. “But Sam was talking to me yesterday about a kid at your school, a fifth grader. Dean?”

He didn’t miss the shame that flashed across her face. “I’m sorry to say that Dean is no longer with us,” she said quietly.

There was no mistaking her tone of voice, but he tried anyway. “You mean he transferred?”

She shook her head. “No,” she corrected. “He died just last night. I got the call this morning.” 

“The bruise,” John whispered.

The principal nodded, a slight incline of her head. “The bruise,” she repeated.

John watched her walk back into her office and close the door quietly behind her. He didn’t follow. John walked outside and combed the playground, looking for his son. He caught a mop of brown hair between the tires and the swing and headed that way, not surprised to find Sam squatting on the ground, just waiting.

“Why is everyone so sad?” Sam asked, running his hands over the grass.

John felt tears run down his face, and he couldn’t hold them back. “Sammy,” John coaxed.

“Where’s Dean?”

“He won’t be here today,” John said quietly. Sam stood and latched onto his waist. John picked him up and held him closer.

“Why not?” Sam asked, the tears already starting as he shook in his father’s arms. 

“Because Dean doesn’t lie anymore,” John whispered, hugging his son. “He’s up in Heaven.”

“With Mom?” Sam whispered.

John nodded. “Yeah, bud. With Mom.”

“Why?”

“Because no one helped him,” he said, fresh tears running down the tracks on his cheeks.

“Why?” Sam asked, crying hard into his neck. “He’s not supposed to do that, Dad. Why’d Dean lie?”

John just held him tighter. “I don’t know, Sammy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone child abuse, and I strongly urge anyone who suspects that a child may be being abused to report as soon as suspicion arises. Read on...


End file.
